


insufferable

by cleardishwashers



Category: Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Blood, Caring, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:27:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25094584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleardishwashers/pseuds/cleardishwashers
Summary: “Hey,” Rusty says, and even in the darkness that comes with owning a house in the unlit wilds of California, Danny can tell that something is wrong, and then Rusty sways, one, two, and Danny catches him before he can fall face-first onto the front steps. Even through the layers of clothing, Danny can feel the warm, wet something on his fingertips.
Relationships: Danny Ocean/Rusty Ryan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 125





	insufferable

**Author's Note:**

> found this bad boy in my drive from like a year ago so i decided to clean it up and post it! hope u enjoy :)

“Hey,” Rusty says, and even in the darkness that comes with owning a house in the unlit wilds of California, Danny can tell that something is wrong, and then Rusty sways,  _ one, two, _ and Danny catches him before he can fall face-first onto the front steps. Even through the layers of clothing, Danny can feel the warm, wet  _ something _ on his fingertips.

“Rusty?” he asks, and he really does  _ not _ think that he can check for Rusty’s pulse without losing his mind, so he pulls his friend close and drags him over to the couch, disregarding the red stains spreading across everything. “Rusty, can you hear me?”

Steady hands are everything in their business. Every single aspect of a heist requires steady hands, and if you don’t have them, you either work twice as hard or you quit. Danny has kept his hands steady in the face of poison, bullets, knives, electrocution, car crashes, God knows what else— but as he unbuttons Rusty’s clothes, his hands tremble. He skates his fingers over Rusty’s torso, trying to find where the blood is coming from, and when he finds the bullet hole, he lets out a shuddering breath. Through-and-through, away from anything major. His throat burns.

He’s treated wounds like this dozens of times before. He can do it again, even though Rusty’s head is lolling to the side and the gold of Rusty’s skin is fading to porcelain and Rusty’s chest is barely moving. He can still do it.

He gets the first aid kit from the kitchen, and he disinfects the wound and makes sure that there’s no fragments in it, and he applies pressure and wraps it and does everything else that you’re supposed to do when your partner shows up at your door with a fucking bullet wound. He doesn’t bother to wash his hands before pouring himself a drink, and if he was still living with Tess, she would’ve probably gotten it for him so he wouldn’t stain her nice white cabinets. (If he was still living with Tess, she would’ve taken care of Rusty and he would’ve fallen to pieces.)

One drink is not enough. He ends up on the floor next to the couch, taking swigs of Jack straight from the bottle in order to drown the vomit that’s churning in his stomach. Rusty’s hand dangles down from the cushion, still pale. Danny pushes it back up so it rests on Rusty’s chest, out of view.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he’s awoken by someone knocking their knuckles against his head. “Rus?” he asks blearily. His eyes shoot wide open. “Rus!”

Rusty groans. “Not so loud.”

Danny stands up— too fast, according to his quasi-hangover— and runs his eyes over Rusty’s body. Rusty smirks, lazy, cocky, despite (or maybe because of) the fact that he was bleeding out on Danny’s doorstep not twelve hours ago. “You goddamn _idiot.”_ _What did you do?_

“Yeah. Some guy was asking about you, wondering if you were alive—”

“Gave you a nice present, I see,” Danny says, like he wasn’t close to a complete mental breakdown over it.

“Well, he's dead in a ditch.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a real way with words?”

“All the time, in fact.”

“Y’know, you can’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Danny takes a shuddering breath. “Show up on my doorstep bleeding half to death.”

“I would’ve bled full to death if it hadn’t been for you.”

There are  _ implications _ hidden in that sentence, and for maybe the third time in his life, Rusty’s full meanings don’t hit Danny until twenty seconds later;  _ you saved my life _ twists and turns and morphs into a strange declaration of need and trust and thanks. “No problem,” Danny says, his voice the tiniest bit strangled. Because what is someone like him supposed to do with Rusty’s need and trust and thanks? He’s a twice-divorced career criminal who needs Rusty if he wants to execute anything bigger than the simplest of lifts—

Rusty sits up, wincing, and pulls Danny down by his tie, and for a second Danny thinks— but no, Rusty grabs Danny’s jaw and turns Danny’s head so his lips are by Danny’s ear, and he says “Shut the fuck up.” He lets go. “I know you’re thinking something bullshit.”

“You know me so well,” Danny deadpans, even though his heart is racing.

“What can I say? I have a PhD in Danny Ocean Studies,” Rusty replies, smirking again.  _ Unfair, _ Danny thinks somewhat dazedly, because it’s kind of hard to think straight when he’s been on a veritable emotional rollercoaster  _ and _ Rusty’s looking at him like that. God, how did he handle this on the Benedict job?  _ You wanted to get Tess back, _ his brain supplies helpfully.  _ Idiot. _

Maybe that was for the best. Because if he had been clued in back then, he never would’ve gotten anything done.

“Oh yeah?” Danny says. “Tell me what I’m thinking right now, then.”

Rusty looks at him, making a show out of narrowing his eyes in contemplation.  _ Un-fucking-fair, _ Danny thinks, and then—

Rusty grabs his tie again. Rusty pulls him down again. Rusty grabs his jaw again. This time, Rusty does not turn Danny’s head. This time, his lips end up right by Danny’s own. They hover there, a millimeter apart (Danny can smell— practically  _ taste— _ Rusty and it is fucking  _ intoxicating, _ metal and pine and God knows what else), for a split second before Danny’s brain catches up to his heart (and to a very small extent, his dick) and he closes the gap between them.

Rusty actually does taste like metal (Danny is suddenly, forcibly reminded that Rusty was shot very recently), and as Danny runs his tongue along Rusty’s bottom lip, the sensation intensifies. Rusty opens his mouth and pulls Danny down further, making Danny stumble to the ground, kneeling over Rusty, and then Rusty tries to move closer and makes an aborted noise of pain— “Rusty, you  _ dick, _ you just got  _ shot,” _ Danny says, trying his best to sound reproving even though he’s still barely an inch from Rusty.

“But I knew what you were thinking,” Rusty says, grinning.

“You are fucking  _ insufferable,” _ Danny replies.

“See, I knew you were thinking that.”

“Insufferable,” Danny repeats, even though the end of the word is lost to the inside of Rusty’s mouth.  _ God, why didn’t we do this sooner? _

“We didn’t do this sooner because you’re an idiot,” Rusty says.

“Oh, shut up.”

“Hey, have some respect. I just got shot for you.”

“And I respect that,” Danny says, leaning down to kiss Rusty again. “But I need you to shut up so I can kiss you.”

“Hypocrite,” Rusty mutters, and before Danny can reply, Rusty’s mouth is on his and he forgets what he was even thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! hmu on tumblr if u wanna scream abt danny/rusty or just writing in general, my tumblr username is the same as my ao3!


End file.
